


Club Overwatch - Oneshots

by TheMaskedViola



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Smut, Strippers & Strip Clubs, everything you wanted from an overwatch strip club au but were too afraid to ask, jack and gabe own a club, jesse mccree shamelessly wears american flag hot pants, sombra is in everyone's business, the rest of overwatch and talon works at said club, these are their stories
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-05
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-11-28 04:32:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 8,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11410284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMaskedViola/pseuds/TheMaskedViola
Summary: Little snippets into the life of the most bustling club in town, a.k.a stories I would write into a multi chapter strip club fic if I had the time and patience.





	1. Don't Let Her Fool You

**Author's Note:**

> Hey so just a heads up, we're pretending that this is in a place where there are very loose dancer laws okay because coming from a place that they're super strict sucks so that's getting thrown out! Also their call names are their dancer/show names. Have fun!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for sexist language  
> also warnings for mild violence
> 
> mercy runs into some troublemakers during her night, and that just won't do

In the heart of the city of Gibraltar lays an inconspicuous building that many pass over during the natural bustle of the day. However, during the cover of night, Club Overwatch became one of the biggest attractions for miles around. The club was very busy recently, as the last Friday of the month was creeping up, and it could be felt by the entertainers as well as the patrons.

  
One such entertainer was Angela Ziegler, a Swiss doctor with beautiful blonde hair and blue sparkling eyes who was famous for being very attentive to all of her customers. She was on a first name basis with many of the regulars, though everyone only knew her as Mercy.

  
Tonight she found there were quite a few new faces to introduce herself to and set out to greet them, decorated with a white and gold bodysuit that just barely covered her many assets. She made her way over to a table of three men who looked like they were from out of town and had questionably big pockets. The charm came out as she flashed a brilliant smile and placed her hands lazily on the table, bending forward just the slightest bit in show.

"Hello, gentlemen. I haven't seen you here before, new customers?"

  
The men all paused, sizing her up before the one to her left began to speak.

  
"Was wondering when one of you bitches was gonna come make yourselves useful." He had a thick New Jersey accent and the glare she received from him was more acquainted with a man scrutinizing cattle than buying a lap dance.

  
She gave a tight-lipped smile before continuing, "Sir, I really must warn you that this establishment does not tolerate rudeness in any form. I expect an apology."

  
He rolled his eyes, laughing in her face. "Yeah right, like I'm gonna apologize to some whore who's got issues ever since daddy left her as a girl."

  
Mercy lost the fake smiles and charm before sighing and giving a pitying look before her perfectly manicured hand waved at something. She stood there a minute more while the men continued a raunchy conversation, ignoring her.

  
Examining every detail of her recently done nails, Mercy spoke up once more as two rather large and unimpressed men walked up behind her, one scowling all the way up to his very light blond hair and the other who was cracking his knuckles while dark caramel eyes tore into the men at the table from underneath a black beanie.

  
"Gentlemen, I'd like you to meet Daddy and Papi."

The realization that these men were fucked took about .3 seconds before they were scooting back their chairs in a desperate attempt to escape. Though that was stopped quite short by the two who had been introduced, now two of the offenders in headlocks with the extremely rude third clutching his stomach on the floor as the one referred to as 'Papi' had kicked him hard.  
Mercy walked up and shoved him onto his back with a gold stiletto heel. She looked at him with what seemed like disappointment to the very disoriented man.

  
"Now, how about that apology?"

  
"S-sorry. I'm very s-sorry, miss. It won't happen again." This seemed to please her. She smiled and crouched down, still perfectly balanced as she did.

  
"That wasn't so hard, was it?" She fixed a piece of his hair that was out of place. He quickly shook his head, flinching in fear.

  
"Here's what's going to happen now. You and your friends are going to leave this club and you're never gonna come back. And if you ever try to fuck with us again, Reaper over here," She glanced over at the man in the beanie, still restraining one of the friends, "Is going to feed you your own tongue.

Understood?" She gave another dazzling smile before standing straight again and walking off. Simultaneously, the two men were let go and bolted for the door along with the third one who grimaced through the pain in his stomach.

  
Mercy smiled to herself as she sat down at the bar again, joined shortly by Jack Morrison and Gabriel Reyes. They weren't her real fathers, but they were the closest thing a lot of the dancers in this club had to supportive figures in their lives.

  
"Feed him his own tongue, huh? The shaking, quiet, near emaciated girl who walked in those doors two years ago wouldn't have dreamed of telling someone that, even if he had insulted her to her face." Gabe gave her a proud thumbs up before drying the glasses behind the bar again.

  
Angela chuckled lightly, "The girl who walked into this club two years ago was raised very religiously and was also extremely stressed out from medical school and its expenses."

  
Gabe nodded, "You're absolutely right. I'm just proud of my little girl, all grown up." He wiped a fake tear from his cheek.

  
Jack snorted, "Alright, alright. Back to work. It was a good show but let's not scare away all of our new customers just yet."

  
Angela smiled, taking a drink of water. "Of course not, only the assholes. Promise!"

  
She threw up three fingers in some kind of mockery of a Scout's promise before prowling the floor again, looking for money in a room full of wallets.


	2. Bunny Ribbit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucio runs into a cute newcomer at the bar.
> 
> warning for light violence mention?  
> Listen I can't have a fic without a good amount of punching, it's only fair.

It was a pretty busy Thursday night, Lucio considered, as he looked into the crowd during his set. He had been at Club Overwatch for about 3 months now, and he hadn't seen much of the enormous building other than the roof level where he dj'd most nights. It was a great gig though, he thought. It kept him in the spotlight for a lot of interested scouts who may want to sign him to a label, and he made some good money from the owners too: the two older men that had introduced themselves as Jack and Gabriel. Lucio wasn't really sure, but he had a feeling there was something between them, though they didn't outright state it during his audition.

  
Currently he was finishing up his set, the last song would lead them into the next dj's playlist. She was a really upbeat girl who came from London who used the show name Tracer. Lucio had gotten to know her and actually became a friend in the short time he had been there. She was always exciting to talk to, all of her stories seemed so real and exciting that it was hard to not get involved in them.

  
Tonight she was wearing a yellow and white bikini with shorts and a brown athletic jacket.  
"Hey Lucio! Great set! You were really feeling it, tonight. Go get a drink on me." She winked before donning her headphones to get ready for her set.

  
"Well thanks Trace, good luck out there!" He smiled before grabbing his bag, pushing his dreads back behind his shoulders.

  
Lucio was always painfully aware of how short he was, and he was pretty sure even when his dreads were pulled up on the top of his head he was still one of the shortest people in the crowd.

  
In any case, he finally spotted his way over to the bar, weaving through club goers swiftly as he reached a familiar wooden stool. With a sigh of relief he finally got to look around well enough to find a new person sitting at this bar he hadn't seen before.

  
She was very short and petite with brown hair that fell down her back. He noticed instantly that her back was completely revealed by a neon pink backless dress that dipped far enough to reveal two distinct dimples on either side of her spine and then went back up and barely concealed the sides of her body.  
Quickly, he reprimanded himself for staring; a bit too late as he realized the girl was now looking back at him. Damn it, he felt like such an asshole now.

  
He looked up again at her, face red in embarrassment. "Sorry, I didn't mean to stare."

  
She cocked her head to the side with a coy smile, little pink triangles decorating her face, two on each side.

  
"No apology needed, I'm D.Va." She gave a cute wink.

  
"Nice to meet you D.Va," He smiled, relieved, "I'm Lucio. I don't think I've seen you around before."

  
Hana hummed, "I just started downstairs in the Pink Room like two weeks ago." That was the reason behind the dress, though Lucio wasn't surprised. He knew a couple girls from down in the Pink Room, and some guys as well.

  
"Oh yeah! I know a few people from the Pink Room. Not that I make a habit out of ogling half naked dancers," He started to spiral, "N-not that there's anything wrong with dancing! I just- I uh-"

  
He was fumbling, crashing out here, hand flying to the back of his already overheated neck while he tried to figure out how to fix this when he heard a beautiful sound coming from the lovely D.Va. She was laughing, genuinely laughing. He paused for a moment, soft chuckle of confusion escaping as well. He waited until she had stopped to continue.

  
"Sometimes I can be a pretty stupid guy." He admitted sheepishly.

  
D.Va shook her head, smiling, "No, you're cute. On my second day here, a man confused me for a bar server and asked if he could get a Screaming Orgasm and I was so offended I slapped him. You should have seen the look on his face." She gave a nervous giggle, covering her mouth from remembering the embarrassment.

  
Lucio found the story amusing, "Oh no, that poor man," He glanced over at her water glass that was getting low and decided he should make a jump to try and be a gentleman, "Can I buy you a drink, D.Va?"

  
The girl seemed to think about it, tapping a cute pink fingernail against her chin.

  
"You could buy me dinner instead." She smiled, taking a pen and napkin from the bar and writing on it.

  
Lucio felt like he may have tripped on the way to the bar and maybe fell into heaven, his eyes wide as she passed him the napkin with ten little digits now scribed on it.

  
"I'd love to, D.Va." He smiled dazedly as she got up and started walking back towards the door leading into the club.

  
"Call me, Lucio. Oh and my name is Hana." She winked before disappearing, leaving Lucio to hold the napkin to his chest in amazement. He had a date. With possibly the most interesting he'd ever met. Now was a good time to take Lena up on that drink she offered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow, you guys are really kind with leaving me comments! it really does help me find motivation when I don't feel like I'm that good at writing. You're the best, all of you!


	3. Mercy Origins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How Mercy came to find her place in Club Overwatch.
> 
> i promise there's sex coming up soon, the rating will be bumped up, but I'm having a lot of fun fleshing out everyone in this au.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me know if you guys wanna see anything, your feedback helps a lot :)

Wake up. Shower. Go to class. Go to the clinic internship. Come home. Eat some sort of a meal. Wash up. Go to bed. Angela Ziegler was finding her days passed by in some form of routine. She had expected attending medical school was going to be rough, but with the stress of the classes, bills piling up, and student loans hovering her like vultures waiting for her to fall, it was more likely the reason she would be in the hospital after graduation would be due to a massive mental breakdown rather than becoming a certified doctor. There had to be something done, and fast.

  
Angela had grown up in Switzerland with her mother, father, two brothers, and sister when the war had started. It had uprooted them severely in her teenage years, and with situations getting tense and space limited, barely 13 year old Angela was separated from her family and sent to live in a girl's catholic school in the States. It was a hard few years for her, growing up in a confusing country when she was largely unfamiliar with the language and knew no one around her. Many of the nuns and other girls at the school forgot Angela as soon as she left the class, never saying much and when she did it was very quiet.

  
She couldn't pinpoint exactly when she had decided on becoming a doctor, but she imagined that the fact her oldest brother, Wolfgang, who had died trying to reach Canada and who had been training to become a doctor in Switzerland definitely had some influence on her choice.

  
That was how she found herself halfway across the country in Gibraltar for medical school while also interning at a nearby medical clinic. Unluckily for Angela, it was an unpaid internship. Which meant whatever meals she couldn't scour for in the clearance bin at the nearest dollar store, she would steal from the on campus cafeteria. It wasn't the most honest way to live, but Angela knew she had to start making money soon or the student loans and rent payments would do her in a lot faster than starvation.

  
She didn't really know why she paid attention to the large building that night on the walk home from the clinic, but something made her pause in thought at the very large line stretching around the club. A rather garish sign claiming it was called Club Overwatch. She passed by, catching a quick look as a rather intriguing woman passed through the doors wearing a dark purple vinyl jacket over some kind of purple bikini and fishnet stockings that covered her toned legs. The side shaved bright purple hair made her look like she was better equipped to be in a Lady GaGa music video than the crowded sidewalk line.

  
As if sensing someone there, the woman turned and matched Angela's stare, bright lips turning into a mischievous smirk. Being caught made the young doctor blush, red painting her snowy cheeks. The woman blew a kiss, metallic purple lipstick glinting in the club lights as she turned back to the door and walked in finally. This left Angela to hurriedly start walking back to her apartment, confusion and intrigue now pacing her steps.

  
As much researching as she could do, Angela only found that the club was multi stories with dance floors and dj's and live performers. She was conflicted on what live performers meant, honestly. But with her interest clearly piqued, she decided to check this place out.

  
It was around 6:45pm. Apparently the place started charging for entry at 7, meaning that Angela could get in now without paying just to look around.

  
There was barely a line, she noted as she made her way to the entrance. It wasn't very crowded inside and the music wasn't loud, but it was almost like an entirely different reality from the outside world. There were couches and tables with patrons lounging lazily while men and women alike walked around wearing very skimpy outfits. The bar to her left seemed to be the one place there weren't many people at, so that's where she decided to start walking. However, she wished she had spent more concentration on paying attention to her surroundings because a man in a steel grey suit bumped into her, causing whatever drink he had been holding to spill down the front of the jacket, staining immediately.

  
"What the hell do you think you're doing just standing there?!" He became very upset once he noticed the stain, "Can't you see I'm standing right here?!"

  
Angela flinched, stuttering on an apology as she backed up, almost jumping when a hand was placed on her shoulder.

  
"Hey, buddy. Calm down, would you? You're scaring this poor girl to death and she obviously didn't mean to bump into you." There was a rough, deep voice that belonged to the hand.

  
The man still looked upset but he shut up, instead grumbling under his breath as he walked away presumably to find napkins. Angela was shaking when she turned around to face her rescuer.

  
"Oh, t-thank you. I didn't- he was- I'm sorry. I didn't mean to run into him." She tried to mess with the strap on her purse to get enough control so her mouth wouldn't ramble.

Yet, the tall darker man didn't look upset, with finely groomed facial hair twisting around a smile instead. He had dark brown eyes that crinkled at the sides and curly hair that peaked out from under a beanie.

  
"Don't worry about him, he's a regular who doesn't know when to shut the fuck up. But be careful, don't want you to trip into the wrong person." She gave him a weak smile and nod.

  
"I haven't seen you here before, you know. And believe me, I would have noticed a girl as pretty as you around long ago." The tone he had used was much more flattering than flirtatious and he gave a warm smile.

"I'm Gabriel. You can call me Gabe. What brings you here?"

  
Gabe, Angela thought. He seemed like a very nice guy.

"I'm Angela, I just wanted to check this place out. I'd never seen it before." She immediately remembered the girl that she had seen yesterday.

  
"Well, I can give you the full tour if you'd like. This is Club Overwatch. A fully encompassing night club that has everything you'd ever want rolled into one building. Right now we're on the first floor. The Pink Room. This is where you can meet all of the 'live performers.'" He inclined his head at a man walking by wearing nothing but a cowboy hat and a stars and stripes thong.

Angela blushed slightly at the sight before nodding professionally.

  
"It's alright to feel shy. That's how most everyone starts, both patrons and dancers." He had a type of paternal side to him, Angela noticed, with the way he could make people settle down with just talking.

  
She started paying closer attention to the dancers moving through the gathering audience, dancing suggestively or collecting wads of cash from patrons who blindly grabbed in their wallets. Angela distantly thought she could probably buy an entire week's worth of Mr. Ramen with what the dancer just rolled into their g-string.

  
Vaguely she was aware that a question was asked of her.

  
"I'm sorry, what?" She looked back at Gabriel again.

  
"I just asked if you were interested in a job. You'd make some good money with a pretty face like that. And no offense, but a home cooked meal might do you some favors. College student I'm guessing?"

  
Angela was shocked into silence for a moment, considering the offer that was given to her. It wasn't a secret that the stress and lack of money was leaving her a bit... underweight. What else was she coming in here for if not to try it out? Not like anyone at the college had to know, right? It would make her some money to pay off student loans at the risk of becoming a cliche.

  
She nodded enthusiastically, "Yes, I'm interested."


	4. The Stranger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McCree meets a very beautiful stranger

"You know, sitting here with those big puppy eyes isn't going to get you laid."

  
Mccree almost jumped at the voice, cursing to himself that Sombra could just appear out of nowhere sometimes. She looked pleased with herself, turning a silver cube in her hands.

  
"You wanna wear a bell next time?" He relaxed his stance, fixing the stetson resting on his head.

  
"Mmmm, but it's more fun to scare you, hermano. Anyways, you've been staring at tall, broody, and handsome nearly all night. Maybe what he's looking for is a big strong cowboy like yourself." She gave a playful, dramatic wink.

  
Mccree shook his head, looking back over to the stranger. He was beautiful, with raven black hair done up in a bun and shaved on the sides. He had sharp cheekbones that looked like they'd cut if touched without the utmost care. His eyes were intense, scanning around the club as if he was looking for someone, but getting more and more frustrated with the outcome of them not being there. And of course, Mccree was a sucker for a stranger with a pretty face. That was always his fatal flaw.

  
"He doesn't look the type to engage in conversation, if'n ya know what I mean."

  
Sombra rolled her eyes, "Oh, _pobracito_.. Go talk to him, please, before I hear you writing cowboy love songs on your guitar or something."

  
She gently shoved him in the direction of the stranger, making him finally get up and start walking over. This wasn't going to end well, he was sure.The stranger noticed him rather quickly but pretended not to. Jesse experienced one of those moments in life when you really, really regret starting to do something, but realize it's just too late to turn back.

  
With that thought in mind, he finally made his way up to the table he was sitting at.

  
"Well howdy, ain't never seen you round here." He tried to play up the accent, maybe charm the stormy eyed man who was looking directly at him now, lips forming a permanent scowl.

  
"I do not frequent these types of places."  
Good lord if that voice wasn't like honey to Mccree's ears, even if there was a tinge of discomfort.

  
"Well then, what brings ya here tonight?" He gives a warm smile, subtly moving closer, though he is sure the other man noticed.

  
"I have business with someone." He began to scan the room again.

  
"Ooh, lucky lady.. or fella." Please be gay, please be gay, please be gay, Mccree chanted in his mind.

  
The stranger scrunched his nose, "I am trying to find my brother."

  
That was a punch to the gut if there ever was one. Strike One - Mccree. He tried to look composed and not like an asshole as he recovered.

  
"O-oh, darlin. Well why didn't ya say so?" He tried to ignore the dirty look he was being given as he went on, hoping the dim light was concealing his embarrassment, "You look awful lonely here, how 'bout I keep ya company till ya find him?" Mccree sat on the lounge next to the man, noticing the way he froze up immediately like a scared animal waiting to attack.

  
Strike 2.

  
It was a split second until the stranger stood up for the first time, straightening his jacket. "This is pointless. If a Genji Shimada should happen to pass by, tell him his brother would like to speak to him at the hotel next door." With that he briskly turned and walked toward the club doors.

  
Strike 3 and you're out, Mccree thought as the man retreated. He blew his one chance with the stranger all by sitting with him. Fuck. With a sigh, he picked himself up and walked back over to his previous seat to mull everything over.

  
The man mentioned Genji. He, of course, knew Genji very well. Nearly all of the club knew Genji. He was currently entertaining a group of middle aged women for a bachelorette party in the VIP rooms upstairs. What Mccree wanted to know was why Genji had never said anything about a brother in all the years he knew him. Something was really strange about this entire situation and he was going to be speaking to Genji about it immediately.


	5. The Stranger (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mccree catches up to Genji, and so does the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Work has been kicking my ass so I may be spotty with my uploads for a little while.
> 
> Anyone wanna discuss random headcanons with me? I promise I don't bite.  
>  My tumblr is only-one-kenobi.tumblr.com
> 
> You guys are sweet and lovely btw~~~

It was about another hour before the familiar cropping of green hair made its presence on the main floor, bringing Jesse back to the matter at hand.

  
Swiftly, the cowboy separated himself from the handsy group of bachelorette partygoers who were now joining with the rest of the patrons and he made his way towards Genji who was counting a fairly large stack of cash.

  
He was noticed rather quickly, a smile painting the Japanese man's features.

  
"Ah, Mccree! Those ladies knew how to tip, I must say. I love old women. Their money always smells like perfume. You know?" He folded the bills into a roll before tucking them into a pocket inside the pouch in his thong.

  
"Eh, yeah. Listen, Genji, I needed to talk to you." He didn't know how to bring up how the brother Genji never mentioned was looking for him.

  
"Sure, sure! how about I get us some drinks and we sit in my booth?" He motioned with his thumb towards a dimly lit lounge built for two to four people set in one of the corners of the club.

  
Mccree nodded, making his way over and sitting down. After a while, he carefully placed the stetson from his head onto the table, regretting the move when it was suddenly plucked up and planted on jade hair, a rum and coke set on the table in front of him.

  
"So," Genji plopped on the other side, drinking a fluorescent colored drink from a straw, "You wanted to talk to me?"

  
Jesse had known Genji for 5 years now, ever since he showed up in town. He remembered distinctly not liking the man back then as they had been assigned to share a dressing room. They both had quite hot tempers as new dancers, coming from the pasts they had, but little by little they finally broke and ended up sharing a bottle of vodka and telling each other about their pasts. Something they didn't bring up often anymore, especially. Which is why it made Mccree very nervous to say the next thing he needed to.

  
"Someone came by looking for you while you were... preoccupied." He glanced away into his drink.

  
"Ah, not surprising. Was it Zen?"

Jesse could hear the hope in his voice at the thought of Zenyatta, Genji's yoga instructor and current 'fling'. He had always been a wild spirit and a playboy, so the claims of 'no I mean it this time, I think I love him' and 'this is the man I want to change my ways for' fell on mostly deaf ears when it came to Jesse.

  
"Not quite. He said he was your brother." He couldn't tell if his sentence ended up more of a question than a statement but he could almost feel the tension rolling from Genji as he said it.

  
"He said what." The trembling anger hiding in Genji's voice made Jesse flinch.

  
"Well, yeah. He said he was um, he said he was your brother. Which I thought was strange cause I didn't think you had one so I thought he musta been crazy or somethin." He was rambling - he needed to stop.

  
"Where did he go?" Twitching eyes scanned the dance floor, coming up empty.

  
"He told me he was gonna be staying at the hotel next door and he wanted to talk to you."   
The man nodded and removed Jesse's hat before standing up and walking away, leaving his glass half full along with a very confused Mccree sitting at the booth.

  
"Well that coulda gone better. Coulda gone worse. But coulda gone better," He mumbled to himself.

  
"I don't know how much better it could have gone." The sleek accented voice never ceased to startle the shit out of Jesse, who was now glaring daggers at the purple clad woman.

  
Swiftly, Sombra sat down across from him, sipping the abandoned drink, "Brother, huh? So that's who that was. Interesting." She pulled up a holo deck with her hand, typing invisible information in as she did.

  
"Don't rightly think it's a good idea to nose around in Genji's business like that."

  
Sombra rolled her eyes, folding the cybernetics back into thin air, "You act like I don't 'nose around' in everyone's business." She made air quotes before messing with the straw in the drink, "I think you may have a little crush on that mysterious brother of his."

  
Jesse scoffed, waving the suggestion away before getting up and shuffling off to the sounds of Sombra's smug self-satisfaction in being right.


	6. Pharmercy - Yes, You Can

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is rated explicit for pure sex, just pure lady loving

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also: will i ever post a chapter at a normal hour instead of 4 am? ha, you thought!

Fareeha "Pharah" Amari had been hired on as a bouncer and bodyguard for Club Overwatch and spent her time on many of the club's various floors. She tended to the Roof for crowd control, the Casino for security, and sometimes patrolled the VIP rooms to make sure no one ventured to touch any of the dancers. Though overall, she had to say by far her favorite part of the job was the Pink Room. Often because she would get sweet looks and bottles of water sent her way by the stunning Mercy. The downfall to this was that it was making the job really difficult to focus when there was a beautiful, radiant woman just feet away from her literally peeling off layers of clothes.

  
Which, speaking of, tonight Mercy had adorned a tri top and bikini bottoms made completely of crystals, with heels that were covered in the same gemstones. She was currently leaning against the backside of the couch to talk to Pharah.

  
"You look sick tonight, you're absolutely sweating. Do you need anything? wet towel? Water bottle?" She was instantly close, putting her hand on the flustered bouncer's leather jacket clad arm with a concerned look that was quite endearing.

  
"N-no! I'm quite fine. Just really hot, you know, from my exercise." That sounded dumb, abort abort. What exercise? Say something else. She opened her mouth before it was cut off by the blonde speaking up again.

  
"Whew, speak for yourself. I'm absolutely freezing," She paused as she looked down at her outfit, "Can you see my nipples through this top?"

  
She seemed to almost stick out her chest so Pharah could get a better look and immediately all thoughts of how to speak and what words meant completely flew out of the window.

  
"Oh. I uh. You- yeah uh. I... hey! have my jacket. You shouldn't be cold while I'm burning up."

She managed to finally fumble her way through the sentence and then further fumble her way out of the jacket and help Mercy into it, though it didn't help that her hands definitely brushed something she didn't think was a crystal.

  
Pharah desperately tried to calm herself, though the appreciative look Angela flashed her in HER JACKET was not helping her calm down.

  
"How sweet of you, thank you. I hope you will come retrieve it after our shift is done. Back in my dressing room?"

She backed away, smiling, before turning around and continuing her walk to the customers as Pharah tried to regulate her breathing, replaying the conversation in her head ten thousand times. The most beautiful girl she'd ever known wanted her to go to her dressing room. Was that something? Did that mean something? Maybe she was just being nice. The bouncer frantically thought about the implications of what that could mean up until the shift did finally end. She stood in the bathroom for about ten minutes staring at herself trying to rationalize before knocking on the door belonging to the blonde haired vixen.

  
Mercy poked her head out quickly, smiling, before rushing Pharah in. The bouncer had never been to her private dressing room before, finding it was very simple: a vanity, small closet, couch, and some clothes strewn about. She turned again to see Mercy standing there in the jacket and a pair of steel blue shorts that hugged to her perfectly shaped hips and thighs quite nicely.

  
"I was wondering when you'd come back to get it. It's been keeping me nice and warm," She moved closer, reaching up for the zipper and pulling it down tantalizingly to reveal simply skin underneath before letting it fall to the floor.

  
Pharah didn't need much more indication than that, immediately crushing her lips against the blonde's and backing them against the wall of the room. There was a stifled moan from the woman now between her and the wall who eagerly opened her mouth at the other's subtle suggestion. Pharah felt thin fingers reach up into her hair and tangle themselves in it as she pulled away.

  
"You have no idea how long I've been wanting you to pin me against a wall. I was beginning to think you were straight." She peppered the air with soft gasps between giggles as Pharah began to kiss down her neck, biting very softly as to not leave marks.

  
"It would have taken a lot less time if you hadn't been so subtle." Her hands had began to wander the blonde's body, rubbing the bud of a nipple in her forefinger and thumb.  
Mercy let out a soft whimper and clawed at Pharah's shirt.

  
"Good to know, I should probably have gotten naked and seduced you sooner." She grabbed the hem of the graphic tee and pulled it from the taller woman's frame who paused, then resumed her quest of kissing every available inch of skin on Angela.

  
"Got the point across didn't it?"

  
Pharah paused on a nipple, flicking it with her tongue while playing with the other using her fingers.

  
The dancer's head tilted back with a moan, fingers gripping the soft black hair on Pharah's head again, "Finally. I thought I'd have to get on my knees and beg soon."

  
A spike of lust burned through the bouncer, hand slipping down the other's stomach to where the hem of those steel shorts began.  
Desperate blue eyes silently begged for the fingers to be three inches lower, legs widening instinctually at the thought of rough fingers finding their way inside of her.

  
"Don't know about that, I might like the begging."

  
The woman seemed to lose composure from the idea of waiting.

  
"Please Far, I need you." Angela gasped as dark fingers finally breached the hem, thick fingers running past her clit.

She began to grind against the sweet feeling of pressure but was cut off by Fareeha's grip now holding her hips in place. She let out a whining moan as the woman began to flick her clit lightly, teasing the woman with every touch.

  
"Fuck me, please Far."

She moaned loudly as the light touches were replaced by a very solid thumb pad as two thick digits made their way inside of her. She threw her head back again, Fareeha covering her neck and chest in kisses and bites.  
The Egyptian woman curled her fingers, delighted by the raise in volume it rewarded her as she kept coaxing her g-spot again and again.

  
She felt the tight clenching and the panting coming from the slighter frame against her, thinking of a new idea. Quickly, she pulled her fingers out again and dropped to her knees quickly, throwing one of the blonde's legs around her shoulder and leaning in to the wet heat between her thighs.

  
Mercy, who had previously been upset at the loss right before she was going to climax was now nearly yelling out as a thick, wet tongue was licking at her clit and sucking it in with practiced precision. She knew she was close, calling Fareeha's name and lifting herself up enough to place her other leg across the woman's shoulder. Pharah was forcing her tongue even harder as she began to dart it inside of her, finger coming up to rub her clit.

  
All at once it was too much for Angela. "Far, I- fuck."

She felt fingers join the tongue inside her as she came, the feeling of Fareeha licking her clean as she came down from her high.  
Angela was carefully put back down as the taller woman stood up again, juices still fresh on her chin.

  
"You'll have to let me return that favor," She purred, satisfied to Pharah who was grabbing a towel to clean up for round two.


	7. Widowmaker - Origins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We find out where the widowmaker comes from
> 
> TW for implied rape, suicidal thoughts, abuse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is becoming a fully fleshed out story on accident so I apologize if you really came here for the oneshots, however, we're gonna keep calling them that so my brain doesn't become unmotivated
> 
> basically, maybe the multi-chaptered fic was the oneshots we read along the way!

Amélie Lacroix couldn't very well call her marriage happy. 

She was born in Annecy, France, the single daughter of two farmers. When she was 16 the war had moved into Paris, causing her family to evacuate as refugees. Her parents tried to do what was best for her and send her away to America where she'd be wed to an old family friend under the assumption that she would be safe as an American citizen. Though, the young girl that stepped off of the boat in New York would soon find out that the arranged marriage was to be anything but safe.

 

Gérard Lacroix had started out very strict. A man of 28 years who had served in the army quite a few times. He was extremely wealthy and liked to show it, so Amélie quickly fell into the daily routine of being a show wife for dinner parties and galas. She trained herself to smile during events, and would receive pinches on the back of her arm or nails digging into her waist if she missed a social cue around a guest. Soon, she realized, it seemed she was less of a person, and more of a trinket to be wore and bragged about. It soon all felt like she was drowning.

Things came to a head at the age of 18 when Gérard had come home drunk with a raging temper. Amélie knew she had to be careful when he was like this; the fading bruise on her hip was a good reminder, as well. Though, it seemed that night her husband's ire was directed at her. He began to criticize every aspect of the girl, from her hair to her waistline and how he wished he hadn't 'wasted the money on importing a show cow'. The words cut deep, causing tears to fall from her eyes. Without even realizing what she had done Amélie had slapped him across the cheek.

She wishes now, like she has before, that she could go back and change what happened that night. She wondered idly if the wives of Gérard's friends that she spent her free time with pretended not to see the bruises on her body and the deep scratches that covered her inner thighs, or if they felt the phantom pains as well. 

It was like she felt a part of herself shut down after that encounter. An all over numbness blocked everything else in her mind and it never left. Sometimes she even clung to it hoping that she'd never feel anything again.  
She was 20 when they moved to Gibraltar. It was a bustling city with a lively night life, but none of that interested Amélie. She fell even deeper into a hole that had been festering inside her for years now, with no way of knowing how to crawl back out. 

It was a cold night when she started drinking. She remembers stumbling around downtown and looking at the vacant faces of those passing. Half of her wished they'd see her and offer safe haven. The other half wanted someone to rob her and leave her corpse in a dark alleyway for the rats to find. She got neither of those options as she kept walking until she finally collapsed next to a building. It was deep in a part of town she didn't know. The tears that fell onto the rough concrete below her slipped from her numb cheeks as she gave in to the temptation of giving up. It was shortly after that that she blacked out, hearing something like yelling in the distance.

Waking up was difficult. Amélie had wished she wouldn't experience another morning, but now that it was here, she didn't know what to do. She found herself in a strange house, laying in a wide bed with very fluffy pillows that were definitely not hers. Slowly she got up, head pounding like there was a hammer trying to cave her skull in. Absently she realized she wasn't wearing her own clothes, instead a baggy white tank top and equally large pajama shorts that had different coffee cups on it.

She almost jumped when the door to the bedroom opened to reveal a blonde woman carrying a tray. The woman looked at Amélie with a pitying look as she found her out of bed.

"Hey, how are you feeling?" It was a gentle question, tone soft and calculated as if she was talking to a feral dog.

"I'm fine." She almost flinched as the woman walked over to her and set the tray down on the bed behind her. There was a small breakfast of eggs and bacon and fruit which made her stomach growl yet also turn.

"That's good. It must be strange waking up in a new environment. My name is Angela, what's your name?" She motioned to the food at the sound of Amélie's stomach.

Carefully, the smaller woman began to pick at the food with a fork, tasting a bite of fruit before speaking.

"I'm Amélie. Thank you." It seemed to calm her stomach to eat the fruit, so she continued.

"You're very welcome, Amélie. I know this is very difficult for you right now, but can you tell me what happened last night?"

She froze, unprepared for the question. The woman looked at her with a small, warm smile and she wanted to run. She shouldn't be here. Gérard would already be furious she wasn't home all night, and she didn't want to say anything wrong to this stranger. Angela spoke again.

"Do you want to talk to me about where these bruises came from?" The soft blue eyes stared at her patiently.

She shook her head. No, she didn't know this woman. She didn't want anymore trouble.

"Amélie, do you need help?"

She didn't realize she was shaking until Angela held her still in an embrace. She was afraid, she was sad, she was relieved.

"M-my husband." The response came out broken.

Angela nodded, "You're safe. It's okay."

Safe. This is what that felt like. It had been so long, she almost forgot.


	8. Widowmaker - Origins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lena is very gay. Very very very gay.  
> same, Lena, same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys, I'll probably be on and off with my updates in the next couple weeks, work is kicking my ass.

College was difficult. Especially working two jobs and trying to get a dj career off the ground. Lena Oxton, aka Tracer onstage, was currently making her third skinny chai latte of the day and was already sick of the coffee shop. She had taken the barista job as an extra way of picking up cash to pay back student loans (in addition to performing shows at Club Overwatch) but the shop just wasn't as alive, nor did it pay as well as the club did. Luckily, 4pm came by a lot faster today than she had thought, letting her get back out to the chilly weather outside.

  
Lena hadn't lived in Gibraltar long since she had moved from England two years ago. She left her home for America so she could experience all the great clubs and nightlife that the country had to offer. Within her first week she got booked for Club Overwatch and played sets for hundreds of people nightly.

  
She took the coffee shop job because of how close it was to her apartment: the little studio flat that sat right above a ballet studio. It was nice, hearing Tchaikovsky whenever she kept her windows open in the summer. The studio front was completely glass too so the dancers would seem as if they were on display. It was all very beautiful. There was one dancer in particular with flaming red hair that danced very gracefully that winked at Lena while she walked by. However, walking by today, there seemed to be only one woman standing on the floor, tall and pale with a raven black ponytail behind her back. Lena paused, looking at the girl she hadn't seen before, as she started to dance.

  
She didn't know much about ballet, but the dance and the dancer looked very.... sad, almost, yet very graceful. It was mesmerizing and Lena had to scold herself for gawking at her before her eyes started to stare, albeit more subtly. She spun effortlessly, letting each move take her. Something about it was so beautiful, Lena thought, as the woman slowly paused and dipped in a bow as it ended. The brit almost felt the need to applaud her, but realized that would be stupid since she couldn't hear her.

  
As if reading her thoughts, the dancer turned and saw her, staring her down with an intense glare.

  
Lena immediately paled, mortified that the woman saw her watching. She needed to leave now! Awkwardly, she shuffled away, pretending like she wasn't just doing anything weird.

  
Though she kept thinking about the dancer all throughout the week even though she wasn't in the dance studio any time that Lena passed by. The brit was sad that she may have actually scared the woman away when she got into work on Monday.

 

Though that fear was quickly dismissed as a gorgeous woman stepped into the cafe, looking like a model in a knee length pencil skirt and winter shawl. Immediately, Lena recognized the pale skin and that long, raven ponytail that would hang behind her if it wasn't now pulled into a professional bun.

  
"-Excuse me?" She was being called. Fuck, right! Lena had a job. She was at her job.  
Quickly she finished up the man's order in front of her before turning to the scrutinizing look coming from striking pale blue eyes surrounded with dark eyeshadow.

  
"Heya- Hi! What can I do you for?" Lena internally screamed. 'What can I do you for'?!?! Who speaks like that?

  
A corner of the blood red lips twitched higher as she looked from the menu back to Lena.

  
"One small peppermint tea, to go please." Her accent broke the barista's gay heart into tiny, tiny pieces. Of course the insanely attractive ballerina was french.

  
"Your wish is my command!" She gave a salute before swiftly turning around to go brew the tea before saying anything else completely embarrassing.

  
With the steaming hot cup of peppermint tea made, Lena walked it carefully up to the counter and handed it to her, smile definitely too big and goofy for customer service.

  
She looked amused, "Don't I still need to pay?" Thin fingers delicately took the cup into her hands.

  
Oh, right. Payment. That was a thing still. Think of something suave fast, Lena thought.

  
"It's on me this time," She didn't want to test out a wink to accompany the statement because she'd most likely get confused and blink both eyes, so she settled for a bright smile instead.

  
The woman gave a small smile in return before dipping her head, "Well, then thank you. Perhaps next time you will stick around the studio long enough to say hello." She gave one last mysterious look with those pale blue eyes before leaving the coffee shop.

  
Lena, meanwhile, was trying not to jump on the counter and put her fists in the air in victory that she hadn't fucked up anything with the beautiful french ballet dancer.

 


	9. McHanzo - Rocky Start

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jesse finally gets Hanzo's name.

You still got my old Clint Eastwood movies at the apartment?

-Jesse

O shit ye forgot. U can go pick thm up im not home rn. ty again

-Genji

 

Jesse looked at the screen for a moment, deciphering Genji's text before giving up. He should have realized Genji wouldn't be home at this hour. It was 3 pm on a Sunday and chances were he'd be enjoying a very erotic tantric massage with his yoga instructor to the sounds of peaceful music with incense burning.

The thought made Jesse roll his eyes before getting up. They all had made bets at the club of when he'd get tired of this new boyfriend, Zen, and McCree's deadline was getting pretty close now. The part of Jesse that was still Genji's friend, but also very, very broke, didn't favor the idea of being indebted to Sombra and her many schemes. The last time had involved some honey, bees, and 120 copies of a male nude calendar that Jesse had made his personal quest to find and burn. He shuddered at the memory, making his way to Genji's apartment.

  
The door was locked, which was weird for Genji, but Jesse still had a key that the other man had given him long ago in case he'd lose his. As far as Genji's apartment went, things looked spotless as he walked in the door. There were no empty cans of alcohol or paper plates strewn everywhere, the carpet even looked like it had been swept. Jesse would have thought he'd broken into the wrong apartment if not for the lewd pictures of men and women littering the walls. He sighed, walking into the living room area to where the tv was. This was where the search began, Jesse thought, before he looked up again to some movement down the main hall. He almost jumped at the presence of another person.

  
He almost choked on air realizing who it was. There standing in the doorway was the mystery brother who Jesse met at the club nearly a week ago. He stood there, striking and gorgeous with nothing but a towel around his waist and hair sticking to his neck and shoulders with dampness from a shower. Jesse tried to have shame and looked away, his face filling with color as he kept going over that mighty fine physique in his mind and the way those blue lines cascaded down his arms.

  
"Oh, I'm sorry, darlin'. I didn't uh, realize anyone else was here." He heard the distinct sounds of the other man covering himself more before hurrying back the way he came.

  
Well, fuck. Jesse wondered if he'd ever stop fucking up during his encounters with this guy.  
He got back to the matter at hand: finding those Eastwood tapes. However, he heard steps from the hallway again. Glancing up, he saw the man again, this time wearing a grey shirt that dipped low into a v neck and long sweatpants that covered past his feet, yet slouched just below his waistline. Jesse tried to fight back the twitch of interest he felt in the fit of those pants. Though one thing caught his eye more than the fine hip bones that looked like they could hold his hands nice and good.

  
He was wearing prosthetics. Jesse guessed from the knees down, though he couldn't be completely sure. He knew the way people moved when they were unfamiliar with their new gear. Jesse had seen it and lived it a thousand times, and his metal arm was proof of that.

  
"What are you looking at?" The words were sharp and irritated.

  
Jesse looked up suddenly at the stormy glare he was getting, "Pardon, darlin'. Don't mean to be rude or nothin', I just think yer prettier 'n a sunrise after a long night." Flattery usually worked with people, right? Southern metaphors did wonders for many of his clients, at least.

  
However, the other man just narrowed his gaze, "What."

  
Jesse shook his head and stood up, carefully walking over. He put out his hand in invitation.

  
"Right. I'm sorry I keep startin' out wrong. My name is Jesse. It's nice to meet you. I've been a friend of Genji's for a long time now, and it's nice to find out he has a brother too."

  
The man seemed to consider this a moment before reaching out as well and shaking his hand.

  
"I am Hanzo." His glare looked a little less annoyed.

  
Hanzo, then. It was a beautiful name for a beautiful man, Jesse thought. It was like streams of water rushing over a bed of rocks.

  
"I couldn't help but notice we're a little bit alike." At Hanzo's confused look, Jesse held up his metal arm and flexed a couple of the fingers.

  
A scowl came across Hanzo's face and he looked away, stormy expression apparent again.

  
Jesse swore at himself. Two steps forward, three steps back.

  
"Nothin' wrong or nothin'! You just look mighty uncomfortable in them so I was guessin' they were new. I got a couple tricks for helping them not get as sore as they do."

  
Hanzo still said nothing, lips tight as he looked back at Jesse.

  
"I do not wish to talk about it, and would appreciate it if you would refrain from mentioning anything to Genji."

  
Oh.

  
Jesse pieced it together, "You haven't told him yet, have you? I mean, don't worry. I won't say a thing, but I think you should tell him. I mean he's your brother and all, he'd understand. Nothin' to hide, darlin'."

  
The anger dissipated for a moment and turned into confusion. Jesse realized now he probably overstayed his welcome.

  
"Anyways, I'll see myself out. Genji's probably hidden those Clint Eastwood movies from me. Hope to see you around, Hanzo." Jesse took his leave, not allowing every aspect of the interaction between them play through his head over and over again.

  
He opened his door later that night to find the small stack of familiar dvd's sitting on the floor, with a small note on top that said 'Thank You' in beautiful scrawl he could only guess came from Hanzo.


End file.
